


A Simple Fixation

by catbug



Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: F/M, Fluffy as hell, Gravepainters, Mentions of Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 18:46:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2518004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catbug/pseuds/catbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's no secret that Xibalba adores his wife in every way possible. However, he does have a specific interest in one simple trait of hers: her hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Simple Fixation

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in a long while, and this is the first thing I've ever written for The Book Of Life so go easy on me!! I really had lots of fun writing this though. It was inspired by an "imagine your otp" prompt from tumblr.
> 
> btw, the song La Muerte is humming is Mareta, Mareta, n'om faces plorar

There were many lovely qualities about the queen of The Land Of The Remembered. Her sugary skin, bright eyes, delicate hands, and slender figure were all things Xibalba admired. Of course, he admired everything about his wife. From her fiery passion to the way her hands gently caress his face when she’s being charming, the tar-covered deity adored his wife and everything about her. But, there was one quality about her that he silently coveted. Her hair.

La Muerte’s hair ended down at her thighs and was so smooth to the touch that her husband coveted every moment his hands were running through it. It wasn’t very often, though. Sometimes they would lie together and he would run his hands through her long, silky hair. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to admit it but it was one of the few times she would visibly relax to his touch. Her husband was always the one melting in her hands, not the other way around. But, she had still fallen asleep in his arms many times because of his hands carefully gliding through her hair. It was relaxing to both of them.

They spent more time apart than Xibalba cared for. She was often busy with the fiestas in her land or helping mortal souls with their problems. He admired her strength and dedication, but longed for the moments they were alone. She’d take off her massive sombrero and sometimes they’d dance, or discuss their days, and he’d watch her hair sway with each step, finally free form her hat. 

Of course, they’d also play around. She would dash through their kingdoms in a flash of marigolds and he would follow suit, disappearing and reappearing in tar. Xibalba was always the pursuer in their games of tag, and he would not complain. This allowed for small glimpses at her bright-eyed and wide-grinning laughter, which her calm demeanor rarely allowed. When La Muerte turned quickly to wink at her husband or make sure she was at a safe distance before disappearing again, he could see stay hairs falling on her face or escaping the ribbon that bound them behind her head. It was a beautiful sight; one that someone could get addicted to.

The last instance was much rarer than the others, and Xibalba would prefer it otherwise, but he supposed it was more special this way. She’d leave her sombrero on the floor carelessly and the ribbon binding her hair would follow suit. She was always in control during these situations. She was always the one to initiate it. Xibalba respected and revered her too much to even try anything she wouldn’t appreciate. His wife’s delicate hands would caress his face, his neck, his chest, and he’d melt into them as always. 

When she lay below him her hair sprawled out behind her like an elder monster with tendrils that could pull him down into darkness. Xibalba often found his hands tangled in her soft waves of hair as they kissed and he gasped out her name. When his wife towered above him, grinning confidently at him from above, the light shone on her hair like a halo. It cascaded over her shoulders and his fingers often ended up following the trail they lead down her chest. It was always an otherworldly experience, but being with his wife was always like that. It was as if the worlds simply melted away like he did in her hands.

As gods, sleeping was unnecessary. However, they still often slept together. After a long day of work for La Muerte, she would rest her head on her husband’s chest and they both found themselves at peace as his thin fingers combed through her hair. When Xibalba grew especially lonely and longed for her company, she would let him lay his head in her lap and she’d hum lullabies as old as them both. Her hands caressed his tar-covered skin with little consideration for the odd texture. It was rare that the lonely god felt at peace, but it was even rarer that he wasn’t at peace around his beloved wife. And, it was during one of those moments that La Muerte discovered her husband’s particular fixation. 

Her low, quiet hum filled the room. It was a Catalan lullaby, if he remembered properly. Her voice was sugary sweet when she sang, much like the texture of her skin. She was wearing a sleeping gown, which somehow was almost as elegant as her favorite red dress. Xibalba figured it was simply her elegant aura that made everything around her feel warm and lovely. In an hour or so she was to return to her duties as he was to his, but her soft hands tracing patterns and caressing his cheekbones and forehead made that all seem like a distant memory. 

La Muerte’s hair was free from its ribbon to curl around her shoulders and hips, and her husband had been playing with one of said curls for a few minutes now. It’d wrap around his fingers and he’d let the silk-like strands fall through. The sugary deity paused her lullaby to glance down at her husband in her lap, and she let out a quiet chuckle. Xibalba was quickly pulled from his trance and he gazed up at her. “What is it, Mi Amor?” his voice was relaxed. La Muerte pulled the bit of hair out of his fingers and curled it around her own before grinning down at him. “You absolutely adore my hair, don’t you?”

The tar-covered deity looked away nervously. It was no secret that he adored his wife in every way possible, but he still had a bit of pride to maintain. He was wrapped around her finger but he avoided letting that be so obvious. He avoided speaking for a moment, and then quietly asked. “How did you know?” La Muerte leaned back and grinned down at him. “Your hands are almost always in my hair, my darling. It’s no secret.” The dark god silently cursed his lack of subtlety when he was with is wife. Or perhaps he should curse her ability to read him like an open book. 

“It’s alright, Balby…” she drew out her affectionate nickname for him lovingly as she leaned back in and let her hands return to his face. “I adore quite a few qualities about you, too.” Her delicate fingers gently combed through his beard and he looked up at her again curiously. He was aware his wife loved him, but he was never quite sure why. He was always the one vying for her attention and doing his best to keep her interested. “Like what?” he questioned.

La Muerte chuckled again, the sound filling her husband with an odd warmth he only felt around her. “I could list off the many things about you I adore, such as your soft skin,” her hand stroked his cheekbone lovingly. “or your eyes, which are only for me.” He could not deny that odd fact that whenever they were together, the eyes of the skulls always seemed to be looking at her, aside from when he was specifically focusing on something else. Perhaps it was because she was often the center of his focus. She interrupted his thoughts with her smooth voice. “But, the truth is,” she paused to gather her thoughts. “I’m glad we’re not one entity. Because then we would both be lonely. But despite that, I am not complete without you. We are simply two separate beings that decide to be whole when we come together.” 

The king of The Land Of The Forgotten took a moment to process what she said. It confused him a little at first, but he understood how she felt. She looked warmly down at him and he couldn’t help but smile. He was not lost without La Muerte, but still incomplete. He could manage without her, but not happily. She stroked his cheek fondly and added, “I have loved you for centuries and I will love you until there is not a single soul left to remember.”

Xibalba was unsure of how to respond. His wife was not very vocal about her affections ever, opting to show it physically by stroking his face and kissing him. The way she looked at him was adoring and he felt her shining eyes deep in his cold soul. His fingers curled around a lock of her hair again as he stared up at her with reverence. The orange light coming from her window shone off her hair and for a moment her husband was breathless. His thin hand reached up to touch her cheek, still surprised. “Mi Amor…” he couldn’t think of anything to say. La Muerte giggled delightfully and leaned down to kiss his forehead. “Now, enough of this talk. We should get to work.”

The queen gently nudged her husband to encourage him to sit up and he did so reluctantly. However, before she could stand up, he pushed her down onto her bed by the shoulders. “I’m sure our lands wouldn’t miss us for another hour or so…” She wore an expression of surprise before it turned into a grin, glad with her husband’s boldness. “No, I’m sure they can manage fine.” She laughed in response as he leaned down to press a loving kiss to her lips. 

“I love you, Mi Amor.” The dark god whispered, his fingers twirling around a strand of hair that curled against her cheek.

“I love you too, Balby.” La Muerte said, much more confidently than her husband did, as she pulled his face down to meet her for another kiss.


End file.
